Son of Indiana Jones
by O'Banion
Summary: Based on characters from Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Indiana Jones and his recently discovered son, Mutt, attempt to negotiate their new father/son dynamic. Contains spanking.


Indiana Jones and the Paddle of Doom

Author's Note-

Fan-fiction- Please note that the characters depicted in the this story are not my own. They are the part of The Indiana Jones Franchise which was created by and is owned by George Lucas.

Plot Spoilers- Please note: This story contains plot spoilers for the film Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

"I told you, don't call me Junior!" Mutt yelled, as he slammed his bedroom door in his father's face.

The words sent a shiver up Dr. Henry Jones' spine. He distinctly remembered shouting the very same phrase at his own father innumerable times. Dr. Jones, better known to many as Indiana Jones, had only recently discovered the existence of his 18 year old son, Mutt. On a trip to South America, he had come across his old lover, Marion Ravenwood, who informed him that roughly nine months after their affair, she gave birth to Mutt, whose proper name was Henry Jones III. Having missed the first 18 years of his sons life, Indiana found it odd to have fatherhood suddenly thrust upon him. But he was determined to make up for that lost time now.

"Young man," Indiana said as he gingerly tapped his son's bedroom door with his knuckle, "I won't have you slamming doors in my face. Come out of there at once."

"Oh, yeah," Mutt cried from the other side of the door, "Why don't you come in?!"

Mutt was teasing his recently-acquired father. He knew that Indiana hated entering his bedroom because of Mutt's pet snake. As a result, Mutt could use the room as a safe haven from his father's demands.

"I'd rather not," Indiana replied, remembering the glass case that housed the enormous scaly reptile. "Listen, Mutt, it's very important that you finish school. If I had been around when you were growing up, you never would've dropped out."

Suddenly the door sprang open. Indiana backed away from the open door, fearing that Mutt's snake may emerge at any moment.

"Yeah, well, you weren't around, were you, Pops?"

Indiana paused. Mutt had a point.

"School cramps my style," Mutt informed his father as he pulled his black comb from his back pocket and dragged it through his greasy slick-backed hair. He then emphasized his point by pulling his leather jacket sharply around his shoulders. "I got bigger fish to fry."

"You won't get very far in life without an education," Indiana lectured his boy.

"You're one to talk," Mutt retorted, as he walked passed his old man into the living room, which was filled with ancient artifacts and old maps. "You're always running away from responsibility in pursuit of adventure. How can you disapprove of me wanting to do the same?"

"Listen, Mutt," Indiana said as he followed his son into the room, "the only reason, I can do that is because of my education. It's because of the many years that I spent in a classroom, listening to lectures, that I'm the man I am. Look at it this way, imagine the predicament we would have been in a few months ago if I didn't have a solid knowledge of the ancient peoples of South America. We would have been toast."

Resignedly, Mutt flopped himself down on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table, coming scarily close to smashing an ancient artefact that Indiana had picked up years ago. Indiana forcibly removed his feet from his furniture as he continued his lecture.

"Further, the matter is no longer up for discussion. I've enrolled you in the Weldon School for Boys for this upcoming Fall. It's a great school, with a fantastic reputation."

"You want me to hang with those stuck-up, square, rich kids? Like hell!" Mutt screamed as he stood up, facing his father.

"Hey, watch the language, young man," Indy reproved, his voice rising for the first time. "I ought to wash your mouth out with soap. The school will be good for you. Maybe it'll expand your vocabulary. Use language like that at Weldon and you'll find yourself up before the Headmaster for a paddling."

"Whoa," Mutt responded. "No way am I going to some preppy boarding school and letting some stiff spank my ass with a paddle. I'd give him a black eye."

"Again with the language, Mutt. Don't make me warn you again. I think the discipline would do you a world of good. You've clearly done whatever you wanted your whole life, with no fear of reproof. Which I admit, is probably due to my absence. However, all of that is about to change. You'll thank me for it when your older."

"I guarantee you, Pops, I'll never thank you for letting some dinosaur beat my ass. I'm outta here," Mutt started making his way toward the front door.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Indy demanded.

"What is it to you?" Mutt spat out.

"I'm your father, and I'm responsible for your well-being," Indy responded.

"You're not my father. You're some guy who impregnated my mother nearly nineteen years ago. There's a difference."

Quick as a flash, Indiana Jones blocked the front door, barring his son's intended exit.

"Listen, bucko, it's time someone taught you some manners. Now I know that I haven't been around while you were growing up, but you can bet your bottom dollar that if I had, you wouldn't be speaking like this today."

Indiana grabbed his son's arm and twisted it behind his back. It was a moved he'd enacted countless times in the jungles of the Amazons as well as Nazi Europe. He'd never expected that he'd use it in his quaint suburban home in the US of A.

"Ow!" Mutt protested.

"Now, march back to your room and stay there until I tell you to come out."

Suddenly, Mutt produced a gleaming knife from his boot. He spun on his father, his dagger at the ready.

"Out of my way, old man," Mutt demanded, making stabbing gestures toward his dad.

"Drop the knife, Mutt," Indy said, "or you'll regret it."

"I said 'out of my way'….or you'll regret it."

Employing moves that he'd used to disarm Soviets a few months in the past, he quickly had Mutt's arm in his hand. The knife dropped to the floor. Again Indiana twisted his son's arm behind his back. With his other hand, he grabbed Mutt's ear.

"That's it, Junior. I've had enough."

He dragged Mutt into his study, on the other side of the living room and slammed the door behind them.

Once inside, he dropped Mutt to the ground.

"It's time I exercised my paternal duties. You've been in need a backside-warming for a long time. It's time you had it."

Mutt struggled up to his feet.

"What are you going to do?" Mutt spat the words in his father's face. "Are you going to use your bullwhip on me?"

"I ought to," Indiana replied, having never considered this as an option. "Next time you give me any of your lip, that's exactly what you'll get. Today, however, I'm going to introduce you to something my old man used to use on me."

With that, Indiana Jones produced a large oak paddle from his desk. It had holes drilled into it that served to increase the speed of impact and raise welts on youthful bottoms.

"What the hell is that?" Mutt said.

"Remove your leather jacket, young man. Empty the back pockets of your jeans. I call this….The Paddle of Doom."

Mutt's jaw dropped to the floor, his usual cool demeanor rapidly disappearing. As his father slowly, methodically began rolling up his sleeves, Mutt quickly made his way toward the closed door.

Indiana Jones, well versed in preventing the escape of trapped enemies, quickly had him in another hold.

"Junior, we can either do this the easy way or the hard way…" Dr. Henry Jones II started. Mutt winced audibly as his recently discovered father yanked his arm around behind his back. "Either you willing bend over that desk and take 5 swats with this here paddle, or I'll hold you over my knee with your arm twisted like so, bare your little bottom and give you a solid twenty whacks. Now, Mutt, what's it going to be?"

All this while, father and son continued to struggle against each other, the end result being that the more senior Henry Jones overpowered the junior.

In a moment of sheer desperation, Mutt cried "Ok, ok. You're breaking my arm. Let me go."

"If I let you go, you'll bend over that desk and take your punishment like a man?" Indy demanded

"Yes, just please, _let go_!" Mutt squeeled.

Dr. Jones dropped his son onto the carpeted floor. Mutt remained on the floor for about 5 seconds, a crumpled mess of leather and denim, before rising up to face his father, tears welling up in his eyes as he rubbed his injured arm and shoulder.

"Part of being a man is knowing when to call it quits," Indy said, in mild praise. "Now, take off that jacket and empty your pockets. I'm going to dust the seat of your pants for you."

Mutt, eager to avoid another painful twisted-arm hold, complied.

Indy picked up the paddle and ran the wooden blade across his palm, remember his own youthful misdemeanors and subsequent punishments. His own father, while he had been present at least, had always been firm but fair. Indy intended to be just the same. He knew that Mutt had never experienced corporal punishment before, which provided the main reason for his attitude, and Indy intended that his first experience would be a memorable one.

Meanwhile, Mutt stripped off his signature leather coat, revealing a tight white t-shirt underneath which illustrated his Adonis-like physique. Indy felt pangs of jealousy and nostalgia as he looked upon a body that was so similar to his own, circa 30-40 years ago. Mutt pulled his wallet and his comb from the back pockets of his tight-fitting jeans, leaving them completely form-fitting to his shapely posterior.

In spite of the many physical attacks Indy had perpetrated in his life, he had never before delivered a spanking. "Well," he thought, "there's a first time for everything."

"Do we really have to go through with this? Look, I'm sorry I pulled the knife on you. But please, I'm 18 years old, don't you think I'm a bit old for a paddling?" Mutt begged.

"In this household, if you behave like a juvenile brat, you're going to be treated like one. My own father paddled my rear end until I was 21 years old, if I needed it. It did my a world of good." Indy informed his son. "Now place your palms on that desk, and mind my personal items. Some of those items are ancient and irreplaceable."

Mutt grudgingly turned toward the desk, reasoning that a spanking couldn't really be that bad. After all, he thought, little kids go through this all the time. He decided to simply grin and bear it to appease his father and avoid anymore painful twisted-arm scenarios. Mutt placed placed his hands on the desk and stepped back, bending over and stretching his upper body to its capacity. As he did so, he spread his legs, causing the denim fabric to become taut over his buttocks. Indy marveled at how well Mutt had positioned himself, proffering a perfect pert target for his punishment.

"Alright, Junior, you're getting five big ones."

Indy placed the wooden paddle on his sons denim-clad bottom and patted it softly, getting a feel for the task he was about to perform. Feeling the wooden implement gently smacking his hind-quarters, Mutt rolled his eyes, disbelieving that he was actually about to be disciplined in such a way.

Dr. Henry Jones II, for the first time in a life full of adventure and danger, raised a wooden paddle to shoulder height, keeping his eyes firmly planted on Mutt's buttocks, which clenched unconsciously in fearful anticipation. With all the strength a man of his age and background could muster, Indy let fly, bringing the wooden paddle sharply down upon Mutt upraised bottom.

A sharp _CRACK_! filled the room as paddle made impact with posterior. Mutt, completely unprepared for the force his father was employing in his punishment, drew in air sharply through his teeth before muttering a loud "Ow!"

As a reflex, Mutt quickly stood up and clutched his bottom.

"What the hell?! That friggin' kills!" Mutt shouted.

"Mutt, I've told you before, I won't tolerate such language. You've just earned yourself an extra five swats."

"No, way," Mutt negated, rubbing his already-sore behind. "I'd rather you twisted my arm again. I'm not taking nine more swats of that paddle!"

"Again, you have the option of going over my knee, bare bottom for a full twenty," Indy reminded his son.

Mutt, quickly resumed his position, bent over the desk, bottom pointed towards his father. He clenched his jaw as his father placed the paddle once again on his pain-radiating rump. This was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

The second swat fell with even more force than the force, Henry Jones senior was starting to get a feel for the work before him. As it landed on the well-present backside, Indy left it in place for a moment or two before his son again rose from his bent over postion to clutch his aching bum.

"Yikes, Pop!" Mutt yelled, eager to avoid the addition of further swats with profane language. His face was turning bright red, as he gingerly massaged his glowing cheeks. "I've had enough."

"I don't think so, Junior. Bend over. And if you stand up again, I'll repeat the swat." Indy was in no mood for games.

"But, it burns. You have no idea. My behind's on fire."

"Trust me," Indy informed his son, "I have an idea of what you're feeling. I've been on the receiving end myself."

"Then how can you bring yourself to inflict this pain on another?" Mutt begged, clutching his buttocks with such force that it looked almost as if he wanted to pull his cheeks clean off his seat.

"Mutt, this isn't a discussion. It's a punishment. The offer of a bare-bottom-warming over my knee still stands."

With a groan, Mutt returned to position. Indy found that this corporal punishment thing was quite good for stress relief. He had always found it hard to go for long stretches with inflicting violence on someone. Adventure was part of his nature. As a result, he found bringing a heavy wooden paddle down on a victim's bottom gave him a familiar exhilarating thrill. He wondered if his own father felt a similar rush of endorphins when delivering a tanning to his son's hide.

_Crack!_

The third swat fell even harder than the previous. This time, Indy didn't even give his son enough time to reflect upon the burning sensation in his hindquarters before delivering the fourth swat.

_Crack!_

Starting to develop his rhythm, Indy carried on bringing the paddle down with as much force as he could muster. _Crack! Crack! Crack! _Each painful swat elicited a muted moan from Mutt, who clenched his teeth and locked his lips in an attempt to regain a sense of his manhood. Crying in front of his adventurous father was not something he longed to do.

_Crack!_

As the eighth agonizing blow of the paddle set his bottom alight, Mutt's resignation to stay silent disappeared.

"OWWW!" He howled, tears bursting from his eyes like a broken dam.

"Two to go, big guy. You can do it." Indy praised his son's stoicism.

_Crack!_

"No more, Pops, please." Mutt urged, his face contorted, red and tearful.

Indy made the last one really count, bringing the paddle down with more force than before, he punctuated the punishment with an exclamation point of a swat.

Knowing that his punishment was finally over, Mutt bolted to his feet and immediately grabbed his burning rear end. Indy quickly deposited the paddle in its drawer, knowing full well he may have it back out before long.

"Now go to you room and think about this." Indy instructed.

"Think about it?" Mutt thought. "How could he think about anything else?" The burning sensation in his seat commanded his full attention. As he limped toward the door, he kept his hands firmly planted to his buttocks, as if they were stuck in place with superglue. Then came the agonizing moment when he had to release a hand from his blazing rump to quickly turn the door handle. As soon as the door was open wide enough, his hand immediately returned to its former place on his gluteus maximus.

Mutt limped all the way to his room, once there he closed the door behind him. Having just taken his very first licking, he was anxious to see the results. Unbuttoning his jeans he turned away from his full length mirror and craned his neck around to take in the view. Gingerly, he pulled down his jeans and tightie whities to revel two bright red buttocks. He could even make out the faint marks made by the quarter-sized holes in the dreaded implement. As he surveyed the damage, he subconsciously inhaled through his teeth. He certainly wasn't going to be sitting anytime soon.


End file.
